After It's Over
by Albino Magpie
Summary: There has got to be something that happens after you die. But even when you don't know where you are and have almost forgotten what you are, if you have somebody to hold onto, you're not completely lost. MattXMello


The men moved so fast that Matt had no time left to think. In several disjointed split-seconds, he barely had the time to feel disappointment, regret at his failure. After that, a series of explosions, belatedly registering as sharp, wrenching pain, hitting the ground, a last, nicotine-tinged inhale, exhale, and then the noise stopped. Like a frosty breath, the cold enveloped him, then a sensation like the flash of a knife, an incision into a bond that had been established with his conception – the bond between his body and soul. The lead-weights of pain were gone, somewhere else were flesh and blood still mattered, like it didn't wherever he was now.  
As he stood up, leaving his body broken and bleeding on the ground, Matt noted with some corner of his mind – he was nothing but his mind and soul now – that while there still was a shape to him, boots and jeans and skin and eyes, like a coloured shadow of himself, like a half-transparent photograph, there were no wounds on his – body? – and no heart beating in his chest. He was a spirit, a soul and nothing else, and he could neither hear the conversation of Takada's bodyguards, nor smell the stench of blood and gunpowder in the air. But he could see quite clearly, see that he was dead and had lost and that there was nothing he could do about it. He could, however, think clearly again, now that the pain and the adrenaline and the noise were gone. What was he? A soul, a reflection, a memory, a ghost? Nothing of this was of great importance, considering that somewhere else, someone else was on the run, on an insane, potentially self-sacrificing mission and the odds were not on his side. "Mello. I hope you make it. I hope they don't get you too."

...we are yet to know the identity of the man shot dead...  
The words fell like hammerblows, shattering his heart like a pane of glass, and he seemed to suffocate on his feelings – he couldn't cry now! – first disbelief, then anger, pain, but most of all guilt. What had first felt like a blast of pain, an open wound, now became empty, cold and dead. He felt as if there was a layer of hard, cold earth over him – like it might as well be soon.  
_Matt..I didn't think they'd kill you. I'm so sorry. _Mello slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, he needed to park this damn truck, he needed to get out of it, and he needed to complete this damn mission. Something...something deserted, convenient, where he could park and ... A small road, leading to an old, long forgotten church, the portal gone, the walls half-tumbling down, as good a place as any. A thump from the back as he braked. His hands had barely left the steering wheel when it hit him, like a fist closing around his heart, a shock and a sense of cold so strong it burned. It was over in a matter of seconds, his body slumping forward.

Police cars arrived, news reporters, sirens and excited voices he could no longer hear. Matt was trying to figure out this situation – what does one do when they're dead? – and wondering what they were going to do with his body, and then a torrent of images assaulted him – an old, broken-down church, a scared woman in the back of a delivery truck, the words _Mihael Keehl_ on a crumpled paper, and finally a still form, sunken down on the steering wheel. He's dead. The realisation hurt, more than the bullets had, more than anything he'd felt in his life or beyond. The air was cool and crisp, in his disembodied state he could still feel that. But now something like a layer of ice seemed to cover him.  
So he didn't make it. What was going to happen now? "Mello is dead. Hell, I'm dead too. Where is he? I have to find him!"  
And in his desperation, he moved, not walking, not flying, just moved because he knew where he wanted to go. Wherever that was, it didn't matter, in this world or another, as long as he got to Mello. Somehow, Matt arrived. When he stopped his whatever-it-was, the flames where already burning bright and high, chasing the cold winter air away, red and orange and yellow up into the grey January sky. Without thinking, not caring if the dead could be burned, he stepped right through the wall, into the flames. He didn't feel the fire, not as pain, but in some way knew that the flames were licking at his soul, without hurting him – because what was there to be hurt?  
He found Mello standing right next to the truck, staring at his own body in disbelief, passing his hand through the rear-view mirror, staring at it.  
"Hey."  
Mello whirled around. This, this detached state of being, between this world and beyond hadn't been planned. This was not what was supposed to be happening.  
"What – how!? We're dead, right? We're dead and it's my fault. I'm sorry."  
"Don't be. You couldn't have foreseen this. Right?"  
Matt stepped forward, extended a hand. Mello reached out for it, and when he found that he could touch Matt, feel him, without thinking he threw his arms around Matt's neck, and kissed him. The kiss was long, and hard and fueled by desperation and relief, having lost and found each other, even if it was in this strange way. Since neither of them had to breathe, it went on and on, uncaring, unthinking, rough and gentle, bitter and sweet at the same time.  
The church was still burning when they exited it, right through wall into the cold day. In some way, they knew what to do when the air shimmered like northern lights to their west, some steps away.  
"Whatever this is, we are going there together." Mello said.  
"That's right. I lived for you, I died for you, and I'm not giving up on you now."  
And they joined hands and walked towards the future that was uncertain – but for them, it had always been that – and as they faded and disappeared but never broke their grip, walking hand in hand no matter what, they left the cold light of the day behind, the dancing flames and the chaos and the things that would follow.  
But whatever was happening, wherever they were going, they were going together. Life had temporarily separated them, but never, ever broken their bond. And neither would death.


End file.
